


Discovering faith.

by skinnylittlered



Category: British Actor RPF, Real Person Fiction, hiddlestoners
Genre: Drabble, Gen, Humor, Short, Short One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-22
Updated: 2015-06-22
Packaged: 2018-04-05 15:42:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4185483
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skinnylittlered/pseuds/skinnylittlered
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was literally bound to happen that Tom rediscovered his spirituality.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Discovering faith.

Trying his hardest to avoid sparing even the slightest glance in the general direction of the latex-clad woman with the insane look in her eyes looming over him – forcefully pressing his eyelids together, that is to say – the  officious britishness that Tom William Hiddleston is, squeezing his world-renowned buttocks more intently than he’s ever done in his thirty-four year life, goes over and over again every damn word he’s ever let slip his lips that could have conceivably prompted the unfolding of the events leading to the situation he’s been literally constricted to for long enough for it to be alarming but not for his progressively filling prostate to cause more than mild discomfort, but coming to no conclusive result. There’s just no fucking way she could’ve known, and that leads him to the next mind-boggling question: what are the fucking odds?! Like, really, what are the fucking odds that she’s either guessed correctly or he’s been, by some cruel turn of fate – perhaps a compensation for all the luck he’s ever got with his acting career and all those things which people should be eternally thankful for but never actually get to doing, like a fully functioning body and brain and so on – shit timing and all, in the wrongest of places he could’ve possibly been for it to happen, and just what are the fucking odds for that to have happened. What are the fucking odds that he stepped out for his morning jog just in time to be temporarily blinded to unconsciousness by the lunatic dominatrix lady down the street, who, for some surely universally conspiratorial reason so happened to be in front of his house at five o’clock in the morning wielding an, out of all things, roll of aluminium foil.

Aluminium foil which, in the Hiddleston household and amongst a few very intimate friends, is notorious for being his inveterate nemesis, the only foe to generate more damage than the perpetual headache the incorrect misquotation of Shakespeare caused him – it’s thou art more lovely and more temperate, not are, you pretentious romancing pricks – and that is acute fatigue and feverishness followed by instant, unavoidable unconsciousness, and then the hangover from what must certainly be the ninth circle of hell, no consumption of alcoholic beverages required.

And that is how Tom finds himself bound to an iron bed in a house that is not his own, the leather straps cutting into his tan skin, mutely uttering the first prayer in more years than he’d ever admit to, especially now as his fate is solely into Providence’s literal hands, and perhaps the last considering his outspoken scepticism in relation to all things holy for more than half of his existence. He’s not to be held responsible for this, though, as his background has never been one of much spirituality, but, as his mother barges in with a rolling pin directed at the half startled half terrified fetishist-gone-wrong, he concedes and finally accepts Christ as his true Saviour.


End file.
